


without you, i'm lost

by russiasnataliaa



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Bucky Barnes Feels, Crying, Established Relationship, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, Maria Hill & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Married Couple, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Natasha Romanov, Tags Are Hard, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24814195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russiasnataliaa/pseuds/russiasnataliaa
Summary: "He knows she’d take a bullet for him in a heartbeat, today and other times before have proved that. But he’d rather her not. He wouldn’t want to be the cause of her death. Wouldn’t want to hear that Natasha’s heart stopped because she gave her life trying to spare his own."or, natasha and bucky arguing about the risks she took while out on a mission.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	without you, i'm lost

“My God, Nat, you could’ve _died_ — ” James barely gives her enough time to close the door behind her before he turns on his heel to face her and starts going off.

“I know that.”

In all their years of knowing each other, James and Natasha have had their fair share of arguments — it’s pretty inevitable when you're in a relationship. Tempers are lost, bottled up feelings burst, and things are said out of anger. But since yelling and silent treatments gets no one anywhere, the two of them make an effort to just come forward with their feelings rather than tiptoe around them. Though, it’s easier said than done.

More often than not, they’re on the same page, able to agree on which direction to shoot or where to run without having to say it out loud. Other times, not so much. There’s a lot that goes into the well oiled machine that they’ve become over the years — the notable and illustrious STRIKE Team: Echo. But, the fact that they work together opens more opportunities for disagreements — ‘ _I don’t need saving_ ’ and ‘ _why didn’t you let me handle it?_ ’. And it’s more than appropriate to say that their love for each other has affected their actions out on the field as well.

They’ve just come home from an operation in Rio de Janeiro — their objective was to take Matteo Dubois, (the latest genius scientist in a _long_ line of other genius scientists who’ve been trying to recreate Dr. Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum and use it on themselves) one of the top people on Interpol’s Red Notice, into SHIELD custody.

And tonight happens to be one of those ‘other times’.

“You’re not invincible!”

She leans against the door, huffing before answering with an irritated, “I _know_ that.”

“So _why_ even — ” he runs a hand through his hair roughly, dragging it down his face as he exhales in an attempt to get a hold on his frustration. “ _Jesus_ , you’re not some kind of _shield_ to just be throwing yourself into the line of fire — ”

“James — ”

“No, Natalia, let me finish,” he says, holding up a hand in front of him as a sign for her to stop talking. She rolls her eyes, then, and crosses her arms (which hurts like hell), now knowing how _he_ feels whenever _she_ starts yelling and won’t let _him_ talk. It’s not often that James raises his voice at her. Usually, when they argue he speaks calmly.

Usually.

Right now he’s furious, his steel blue eyes now a shade lighter, plagued with a storm of emotions.

“I would’ve been able to duck out the way if you’d _said_ something, given me a signal or _something_ rather than just engaging.” By ‘engaging’, he means when she took a bullet that was meant for him. Originally, they’d agreed that once she’d downloaded as much as she could onto the hard-drive Fury gave her and taken out all of Dubois’ thugs (he’d been testing the serum on them, too) on the first and second floor, she’d meet him at the rendezvous point they agreed on before heading to the extraction point together.

“Oh, I’m sorry, _Sarge_ ,” she spits out, her voice venomous and filled with frustration. “Next time a gun is aiming for your back and I can’t immediately eliminate the threat, I’ll just let you get shot. Is that what you want?”

_James meets her at the rendezvous point with Dubois as planned, but things take a turn when they start getting shot at. Twelve thugs appear and are closing in on them from all sides, leaving them no choice but to fight. It’s a short one, really, because they seem to be untrained in basic fighting, operating on pure rage and their gun power. About half a minute later, Natasha jumps back to her feet after crushing one of the men in one of her signature thigh holds._

_“I make six,” James calls from a few yards away, punching another man out with his left arm. “I think all this extra work calls for a celebratory dinner when we get back.” Natasha’s about to reply to him with a comment on how he_ always _calls for a celebratory meal, but looks around silently instead, confused as to why there’s no one else left. She was_ sure _she counted twelve men, and if James counts six, and she only took out five, then that means —_

_There, behind a tree, is the last of Dubois’ thugs, a sniper aiming for James as he stands while facing the opposite direction, finger on the trigger ready to shoot. There’s no time for a warning. If she calls out, the man will surely notice and shoot James right then and there. Shooting him first isn’t an option either, not from here. She wouldn't be able to make a good shot with the trunk blocking him this much, even with her stellar aim._

_So she does the first thing that comes to mind. Natasha runs, adrenaline and fear coursing through her as she crosses the few yards to James and passes behind him, shooting her glock just as the other man pulls his trigger._

James exhales sharply through his nose at her affront, probably on the brink now. She doesn’t care. “I’d rather you do that than give up your life for — ”

“Hello?” she says rhetorically, waving a hand near his face. “Am I dead? Do I _look_ dead? No. And I’m not gonna just… _stand_ there and watch you in danger, so drop it.”

“Drop it?” James repeats, placing his still gloved hands on his hips. “How the hell am I supposed to let _that_ go?” He gestures toward the bulk of bandages under her leather jacket and tank top around her shoulder, the events of today still fresh in both their minds.

“I’m fine now,” she returns as calmly as she can, trying to avoid yelling because it’ll only strain her upper body further.

“You’ve had a lot of close calls, Nat.”

“Oh, please, so have you,” she says. “ And I’m here now, am I not?”

“That’s not the point and you know it,” he returns, jaw set in annoyance.

 _“Nat?” James whips his head around, looking for a splash of red in the twilight. It’s not until he hears a whimper from behind him that he finds her crumpled in a fetal position on the ground, both arms grasping at her shoulder as she gasps in pain. “Shit_ _—_ _talk to me, love. What happened?” he rushes out, his heart dropping and stomach lurching, easing her on her back as he searches for where the blood is coming from._

 _“He_ _— he was…”_

_“Shh, actually no, don’t…” He finds the source of her bleeding and applies pressure there. “Don’t talk, okay?” James reaches up quickly and switches his comm to channel six to get in contact with the extraction team._

Her voice is starting to get louder, despite her previous efforts not to, very much fed up with the conversation at this point. “This isn’t about me. If that bullet…” she pauses, feeling her stomach churn and her heart pang at the mere _thought_ of losing him, of having a doctor approach her and say her husband is gone. “If that bullet had hit your spine, you’d have been paralyzed or _worse_.” His face softens a little — only a little — at her words. He realizes now how hurt she is, and not just from the bullet wound to her shoulder and sore body. She was just as scared as him. And as much as he understands how that feels, he can’t help but still be upset because it’s not the first time she’s done something as incautious as this.

“You were bleeding out the whole way back to HQ, passed out and all, and you still think this is only about me?” James isn’t yelling anymore, so she’s glad for that, but his voice still has a firmness to it. “What if I’d lost you?”

“At least it would’ve been for a good cause. What if I lost _you_? Because I stood by like an idiot and did nothing? What then?”

“You wouldn’t have lost me— ”

“No, you don’t get to say that.” she interrupts. “Death chooses whoever it wants and as much as you may want to, you can’t control that.”

“But you _can_ control the rash things you do on the field. Like a few weeks ago? In Italy, when you got captured? It could’ve been avoided.” He has his metal hand held out in a fist, his thumb sticking out as he begins to list events off. It’s not until he finishes around two minutes later, after his whole hand is open and he’s done calling her ‘rash’ decisions out, when he waits for her to speak.

“Natasha, say something.” She’s standing against the wall quietly, biting her bottom lip out of anger until it starts to bleed.

 _God_ , why can’t he just —

She’s not sure what triggers it, whether it’s the fact that they’re arguing or the way her body is throbbing painfully in time with her heart, but she feels her eyes start to sting with the beginnings of tears.

Usually, she would be standing at her full height in front of James to properly counter his opinions, but she's exhausted, her whole upper body silently screaming at her to lay down or sit or _something_. And as much as she wants to, as much as she probably _should_ , she’s never one to back down from an argument or any fight in general. So as a way of getting a break and still holding up her end of their disagreement, Natasha pushes herself off the wall, uncrossing her arms and walking past James to head upstairs.

“I told you why I did what I did, and I’m not sorry, either…” She continues when she reaches the door frame, despite him not being able to see her. “So if you’re looking for an apology, I suggest you don’t hold your breath,” she adds, voice wavering, before slamming the door behind her and sliding down until she’s on the floor. Natasha drops her head to her hands, finally letting her tears fall, mad at herself for getting so worked up.

She doesn’t cry easily, but — she’s so tired, so upset, and really, all she wants is to go to bed.

James is still standing by the foyer, unsure of what to do. Truthfully, he’s not mad at what she did, not really. He would’ve done the same had it been her in his place, so him being upset with her would make him nothing less than a hypocrite. But he’s mad because it’s his fault she got shot.

Maybe if he’d been paying attention — she wouldn’t have — _God_ , he’s so stupid —

He’s also scared. Still shaken at the fact that he could’ve lost her today because she was trying to save him while he hadn’t been looking. And everything may have happened _hours_ ago, but he still —

He knows she’d take a bullet for him in a heartbeat, today and other times before have proved that. But he’d rather her not. He wouldn’t want to be the cause of her death. Wouldn’t want to hear that Natasha’s heart stopped because she gave her life trying to spare his own.

He’s contemplating whether or not he should approach her now — part of him wanting to go upstairs and apologize for coming down on her the way he did, especially when he knew she was in pain, could see it in her face and body language no matter how much she tried to hide it, but another part of him wanting to give her space to work out her thoughts and emotions without him there to stress her further.

He decides on the latter.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It’s minutes to eleven, almost two hours later, when James heads downstairs.

He’d showered in the guest room and happened to finish just as he heard Natasha go downstairs, probably to get something to eat. He’d gone to their room and changed into dark gray sweats and an old, navy blue, standard issue SHIELD t-shirt, his hair pulled into a messy bun.

Now, as he’s making his way to the kitchen, he pauses when he hears Natasha’s soft voice talking on the phone, not wanting to interrupt. Though, there’s a chance she already knows he’s downstairs.

“Yes, ‘Ria, I’m fine. S’not my first time taking a bullet,” she chuckles, pulling the phone away for a moment as she sniffles. _She was crying_. “I get, like, three a year.” It’s almost always Maria that checks in first, no matter what the occasion, so when she heard her phone ringing this late at night, Natasha wasn’t the least bit surprised to see her name in the Caller ID .

“ _You’re something else,_ ” Maria chuckles. “ _But you better rest up. This is your_ shoulder _we’re talking about, not an arm or leg. You’re lucky that the bullet didn’t hit your lungs or heart._ ”

“Yes, I know, _Mom_ . But I can’t say I’ll make any promises.” Their friendship has grown so strong over the years, the type of relationship where they can talk about any and everything. It happened randomly, too. When Natasha first joined SHIELD, she never expected to be friends with, let alone _this_ close, with the Assistant Director of SHIELD. And Maria never thought in a million years she would be going on brunch and dinner dates or on midnight phone calls with the Black Widow.

Yet, somehow they clicked and — well, here they are. Maria’s no James or Clint, but she’s a close third, which, for Natasha’s standards, is pretty damn close.

“ _Just for that, I hope Nick keeps you home with paperwork for the rest of the year_ ,” Maria teases.

“Oh, no,” Natasha sighs, toying with the uneven drawstrings of her light pink pajama pants. “If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I’d think you hate me. And Nick would never find any _good_ reason to punish me like that,” she says with a tilt of her head, thick red curls falling over her shoulder.

Maria snorts. “ _Oh, God, she thinks recovery is punishment._ ” Natasha laughs softly, swinging one of her sock-clad feet back and forth, the other leg tucked under her as she sits back on one of the chairs by the kitchen island. “ _But I gotta go, duty calls and all that good stuff._ ”

“Well, lucky you. Have fun saving the world or whatever it is that Assistant Directors do.”

“ _Nat, you’re forgetting that_ you’re _the Avenger here, not me,_ ” Maria says, causing Natasha to laugh again, and that brings a soft smile to James’ face. Seeing (or in this case, hearing) her happy always makes him happy.

“You may as well be one,” she says, and Maria hums in amusement. “But don’t let me hold you up. We’ll talk later?”

“ _Yes, I’ll be checking in to make sure you’re resting. Tell Barnes hi for me. Love you._ ”

“I will. Love you, too.” And with that, Maria ends the call, leaving Natasha alone again. She sighs deeply, returning to her lasagna that’s starting to get cold. She’s not even hungry anymore, having lost her appetite during the argument, but knows her body needs the fuel. So she takes two bites and rests her arm on the marble counter after, laying her cheek on top of her bicep, the events from earlier and James’ words playing like a broken record in her mind.

 _“_ _How the hell am I supposed to let that go?”_

_“You’re not invincible!”_

_“So if you’re looking for an apology, I suggest you don’t hold your breath.”_

James takes this time to walk into the kitchen, making his steps a little noisier so she’s not alarmed, taking a seat next to her as she quickly wipes a stray tear away with the sleeve of her light gray, long sleeve henley. She doesn’t seem to know he was down here from before, which only proves how off guard and out of it she is.

“I’m sorry. For yelling at you, I mean,” he says softly, a vast difference from just a few hours ago.

“S’okay, you didn't mean it,” she replies meekly, almost inaudibly, and he feels his heart shatter in a million pieces, then. Seeing her like this and knowing that he’s the cause of it pains him more than any stab wound or round of torture ever could. “You were just upset.”

“No, it’s not okay.” He props up his right elbow so he can lean on the counter as he looks at her. “What I did was… _wrong_ and mean and… you’re right, I _was_ upset,” he continues. “But that — it doesn’t give me the right to come at you like that. ‘Specially after a day like today.” He watches her as two more silent tears fall across her porcelain skin, a flurry of emotions showing behind her pretty green eyes.

“Not everyone’s perfect, James. I’ve yelled at you before,” She sits up, then, wiping at her face again and reaching for her fork before saying, “So, don’t beat yourself up for it.”

He nods softly. “And I’m sorry for getting mad at you for what happened today,” he says, and she stops mid-bite, but still doesn’t look at him, opting to place her fork down and draw patterns on the counter with her finger instead. “I wasn’t mad at you. But ‘m sure my actions said otherwise…” Natasha nods her head once, a sign that she understands and isn’t ignoring him.

“I was just… scared. Scared of losing you. And I was — I was mad at myself for not paying attention out there. I took that anger out on you, so I’m sorry. For everything.” As he finishes, Natasha feels more tears threatening to fall and tries to bite back a whimper, his words hitting her square in the chest because she —

 _I’m scared of losing you, too._ A beat later, she finally turns to look at him, her nose red and eyelashes wet.

“Now you know how I felt. To see that guy aim his gun at you without you knowing, and me not being able to — I couldn’t just stand there…” she trails off and he nods guiltily, feeling immensely stupid for even _suggesting_ for her to stand by and watch something like that unfold.

 _Christ_ , how could he be such an idiot —

At that moment, Natasha looks down at James’ hand, seeing the gold band glint in the warm light of the kitchen, and everything comes down on her at full force, the thin wall she’d put up before finally breaking.

“James, I can’t lose you,” she admits while shaking her head slowly, her voice strained and cracking with every other word as she tries to finish her sentence without crying. “Not again. We’ve been through so — so much for so long… For me to lose you now… it would _break_ me.”

“I know. You’re my greatest strength, but also my greatest weakness.” Her bottom lip starts to quiver at that, because she feels the same way. “And we both know how scary that is, but it’s the truth. My world revolves around _you_ ,” he finishes, and he watches as her face contorts with different emotions as she bites her lip to keep it from trembling more, which only makes James feel even worse.

“C’mere, love,” he coaxes, arms open, and she comes down from her chair and steps to him, standing between his knees as he wraps his arms around her small frame, her sobs shaking both their bodies. She cries, her arms wrapped firmly around his neck, letting out all her pain and anger and fear wash away with the tears that are now wetting his shirt while he alternates between rubbing her back and pressing kisses to her temple and head, tears of his own stinging at his eyes as he whispers _I’m sorry_ and _I love you_ ’s into her hair.

“What was that?” he asks softly when she mumbles something into his chest after she’s calmed down some time after.

She turns her head to the side so she’s listening to his heartbeat. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Hey.” He pulls her away gently to make eye contact with her, emerald green meeting ocean blue. “You have _nothing_ to be sorry for. I mean, yes, you’ve been a little reckless from time to time — thank God you’re not like Steve.” She tilts her head down as she sighs softly, memories of some of Steve’s self sacrificial acts passing through her mind before she looks back up. “But, you shouldn't apologize for wanting to protect me, especially when I’d do the same for you in a heartbeat, whether you like it or not.”

Natasha moves back to rest her cheek on his shoulder, taking a deep breath and exhaling when he wraps his arms back around her, melting into his embrace. They stay like that for a while, silently moving past everything and more than grateful that they still have each other to come home to, to fall asleep and wake up to, and laugh and talk with.

<“I love you, my star.”> He rubs her back in an up-down motion with one hand over the material of her shirt as he rocks them back and forth, the other one a welcomed weight on her waist. <“My precious.>”

It’s not really a habit, calling each other these pet names, that is. But at times like this, when one of them isn’t at their best or just needs the reassurance, it’s nice to hear. They both know what they mean to the other, know how much love they have for each other, but sometimes that extra reminder is greatly needed.

<“And I love you. So… so much.>” she whispers with her eyes fluttering closed, and although she’s too tired, in too much pain to speak out fully, she means it just the same as if she were yelling it to the top of her lungs at the highest point on Earth. It’s only when he feels Natasha’s body starting to weigh on him that James realizes she’s starting to doze, her arms going slack where they rest around his neck. So he presses a chaste kiss to her shoulder before easing her up as gently as he can manage, not wanting to move her chest too much, and helping her to stand up straight.

“My God, _look_ at you,” he teases quietly. “Falling asleep on yourself?”

She chuckles somnolently, her eyes red rimmed from crying and lassitude as she places her hands in his larger ones, stepping back and looking him in the face. 

“I was just resting my eyes,” she replies, smiling as she lightly presses her forehead against his. James chuckles, finding her denying her sleepiness rather amusing when all the evidence is right in front of him.

“Well, why don’t we head upstairs, hm? You can ‘rest your eyes’ properly on your pillow.”

Natasha smiles. “Alright.” James gets up once she reluctantly pulls back, rising to his full height and kissing her head once more. They’ve been together for so long, yet, every now and then, James still manages to forget how petite Natasha really is. The way her hands fit into his perfectly, how her body curls into his own and how she has to go on the tips of her toes to kiss him always brings a warmth to him, along with some kind of… _need_ to protect her from harm's way, despite knowing how well Natasha can hold her own.

Once they’ve gotten upstairs and they’ve finished cleaning up for the night (along with James insisting he check on her wound again), James makes a show of lifting Natasha up onto their bed and tucking her in under the duvet, bringing a bright laugh from her.

“Last time I checked, I didn’t need help getting ready for bed.”

“Well then maybe you need to check again,” he smirks. “You could barely walk up the stairs just now, you were tripping on your own feet.”

She scoffs. “Stop telling stories.”

He smiles, walking towards the door frame. “I’m gonna put your plate away. Don’t miss me too much.” he teases and she rolls her eyes fondly as he leaves.

It’s about five minutes later when James comes back to a heavy-eyed Natasha, humming softly to herself and snuggled comfortably on her side of their bed, who’s obviously waiting for him to join her so she can sleep. He gives her a smile when she turns her head to him, the one where the corners of his eyes crease, as he turns off the bedside lamp and lifts the covers and climbs in next to her, pulling her flush against him before he's really even settled in.

“Thought you’d be resting your eyes by now,” he says, his teasing smirk lost on her as her eyes flutter shut almost immediately after being in his arms.

“Y'know I couldn’t _not_ wait for you,” she mumbles, sleep already pulling her down into a comfortable darkness. “That would just be rude. ‘Specially without saying g’night.”

“Oh?” he says quietly, not wanting to disturb her too much. <“Well in that case, goodnight, my love.”> Natasha smiles softly, finally letting her body relax fully at those last few words, setting her head comfortably on James’ chest so she can listen to the lullaby that is his heartbeat, a song she carries with her day to day, strong and steady in her mind.

<“Goodnight, my dear,”> she sighs as James takes one last look at the thick white bandages on her left shoulder. The scar that’ll be left there will be a constant reminder of today. And he knows that they don’t bother Natasha — at least, not as much as they used to— but for James, that’s one more injury caused by him. And sure, he may not have taken the gun and directly shot her with it like he did while he was still the Soldier, but it still feels that way. Maybe even worse because he’s in control of his mind now.

But he knows dwelling on it won’t fix or change anything, that Natasha wouldn’t want him worrying himself over something that technically wasn’t his —

So he sighs deeply, letting the emotional stress of today leave his body, relishing in Natasha’s presence here with him, bringing him a comfort and warmth he can’t even begin to explain as a well needed sleep overtakes his body as well.

**THE END**


End file.
